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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28340526">A Knot of Place and Time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexis_Trvlyn/pseuds/Alexis_Trvlyn'>Alexis_Trvlyn</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dore_N/pseuds/Dore_N'>Dore_N</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, DA lore has been reused to fit this AU, F/M, Family Drama, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Multiple Pairings, POV Multiple, Pride and Wisdom, Professor!Solas, Romance, Solas has an identical twin!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:29:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,037</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28340526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexis_Trvlyn/pseuds/Alexis_Trvlyn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dore_N/pseuds/Dore_N</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be a special day. </p><p>The identical twins Solas and Sileal celebrated their 35th birthday together for the first time after sixteen years. </p><p>But time had been unkind and the distance between them had grown into a chasm filled with bitterness and resentments. The moment Solas fled their childhood home he had sealed the fate of their relationship and further entangled them both into a scheme years in the making.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Lavellan &amp; Original Female Character, Female Lavellan/Original Male Character(s), Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel &amp; Solas (Dragon Age), Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Fen'Harel | Solas/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Halam'shivanas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As this is a collaborative fic, Alexis and I will be alternating writing and posting the chapters. Thank you for stopping by and reading! ❤<br/>-Dore</p><p>To anyone curious enough to want to know the whacky origins of this family drama fic xD</p><p>The conception of this story can be pretty much summarized by the questions: what if Solas and Fen'Harel were two different people? What if they were brothers? Why not make them TWIN brothers?! 👀</p><p>Aaaaaaaand you got a premise for a story.</p><p>Twice the drama, twice the angst, and romance twice over. Pretty much a wet dream of these two Solavellan writers. </p><p>We'll be cycling through almost every DA characters and have those who would never have the opportunity to meet, meet. It's all mapped out! Thank you for giving this wild idea a ride.</p><p>xoxo<br/>Alexis</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> -Solas- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> 10th Guardian, 13:20 </em>
</p><p>The paperweight sat cold in his palm.</p><p>The smooth pebble rolled idly between his fingers, its glass magnifying all the swirling patterns that marked his skin. Every so often, the motions would catch the sunlight creeping through behind heavy curtains left ajar, warming up the hand that seemed cold and clammy. The office was not chilly - he did not feel the need to wear his overcoat, and instead folded it neatly on the back of his <em> rather uncomfortable </em>chair. His navy suit jacket was likewise placed over his crossed legs. Yet a crisp frigidity still jolted through him, and caused his hand to tremble lightly.</p><p>Solas raked his free hand's nails over his scalp, twice before he removed it as if burned. He spun the paperweight hastily, focusing his attention on it until the urge to scrape along his skin dissipated.</p><p>He straightened in his chair, rearranged his tie and resumed his lonely wait anew.</p><p>His brother's office was simple and not at all what he would have expected. Yet again, it had been more than a decade since he had been invited anywhere near a space Sileal would call <em> his</em>. It was devoid of any identifying personality for the occupant save for the slate checkered coat hung on the rack, and the nonchalantly-slung scarf in Payne's grey that draped dangerously close to the floor, both matching their owner's equally somber suit.</p><p>A gust of wind from the hallway outside brushed the scarf along the floorboard. Left behind so hastily and carelessly.</p><p>Sileal's desk was just as nondescript as he did nothing to personalise even the stationery neatly piled in a cup. He could easily tell, as it was the same stationery that he himself had no choice but use as it was ordered and given by the high school to all their teachers. <em> At least the ballpoint pens are of good quality</em>, Solas remarked, and a shy smile curled his lips: the similarities between them began to make themselves seen, even if they were seemingly inconsequential.</p><p>He fretted in his chair, almost in tune with the agonising wall-mounted clock's ticks. </p><p>And the emptiness in his chest felt heavier still.</p><p>It had not always been this way. There had been a time where he had known Sileal as if he was an integral part of his heart - and in a way it was true, as their twin nature would help him understand his brother in a way only they knew. Where Sileal's steps had guided him to, he should have felt at home, for the simple fact that he found it peaceful and cozy and <em> safe.</em> Now, he only found coldness instead, in a place foreign and silent, devoid of the unspoken music that they had both been attuned to.</p><p>It should have come at no surprise though. </p><p>He rolled the paperweight between his fingers rapidly, as he again felt the impulse to graze his nails over his scalp.</p><p>There used to be no secrets between them. No guards nor tip-toeing around their intentions, even for something as objectively trivial as borrowing some toy that held sentimental value. There used to be a time when they did not need to hide behind busy schedules, unforeseen emergencies, poor phone reception or <em> weather </em> in order to have a proper meeting or discussion that would last longer than a few minutes. Though this decision nowadays always rested only on Sileal's shoulders.</p><p>Solas took a deep breath.</p><p>He was the failed brother after all, who failed his brother by leaving him behind. The moment that he fled their childhood home he had sealed the fate of their relationship. </p><p><em> But he has to understand</em>, he fought against his memories. Sileal had to understand, otherwise he wouldn't have opened his heart again to him. He wouldn’t have let Solas back into his life, away from the cruelty of their parents who incessantly pitted them against each other as children. Sileal had made a name for himself in the field of psychology, one for which he had fought hard to study in. Despite their parents’ objections and expectations, he had carved his path through the White Spire University, concluding with a gilded tag outside his office that read “<em>Dr. Talas </em>”. </p><p>The memory of a stack of letters flashed before his eyes, and Solas waved it off as quickly as it came. </p><p>He could not be more proud of his brother. And he could not be happier to even just sit in a corner of his world, as foreign as it was and as anxious as he was. </p><p>The door opened. The person that followed entered the room with a heavy gait. They did little to acknowledge his presence in the office and he took a moment to reel himself in from the thoughts he had lost himself to. It was probably only a colleague of Sileal's.</p><p>Solas turned around, preparing himself to stand up and introduce himself. </p><p>But instead of an unknown coworker, he saw his brother, absorbed by a small stack of papers in his hands. The disappointment in himself weighted his shoulders and a desolate chuckle almost broke from Solas' throat - <em> I couldn't even recognise his stride. </em></p><p>"I have just received some unexpected results from my associate,” Sileal curtly threw his words towards him without raising his gaze from his papers. “You will have to bear with me for a few more moments while I compare them with my own notes, she is leaving in an hour and I need to give her the analysis quickly."</p><p>Solas watched in silence as his brother resumed his place behind the desk. The clock ticked asynchronously with Sileal’s movements of splitting the stack and neatly rearranging it in separate piles. He was already methodically underlining and noting down results, completely absorbed by his work.</p><p><em> That is the Sileal I know</em>, Solas thought, a smile washing over him.</p><p>His eyes snapped towards the clock. <em> 13.30. </em> He had made a lunch reservation at a restaurant for an hour from now, as a gift for his brother to go along with the silly card he had for him in his coat’s inside pocket. </p><p>"Yes, of course. Take all the time you need," he said, shifting in the chair and crossing his legs again. The corner of his mouth curled upwards, as he tried for a nonchalant joke. "I have all the time in the world, it's not like I made a reservation for a table in an hour."</p><p>"Excellent,” Sileal responded, ignoring his joke altogether. “Feel free to wait for me in the park around the campus."</p><p>Solas’ smile dropped, as he found himself so quickly dismissed.</p><p>"Very well. Try not to take too long." </p><p>He stood up, dressing himself in the phthalo blue suit jacket and draping his raw umber coat over his left arm, careful not to bend the birthday card inside the pocket. Though ready to leave, he froze in place, waiting for… <em> some </em> acknowledgement.</p><p>Sileal finally raised his eyes from his papers, looking at his brother as if surprised that someone else was in the room with him.</p><p>“Solas? In the park, please?”</p><p>Solas cleared his throat, motioning with his head towards the window.</p><p>“Oh,” Sileal said idly, returning his attention to the notes. “Yes, yes, I will not take long.”</p><p>The clock ticked a few more beats before Solas finally convinced himself that the discussion was over and he had been as formally dismissed from the office as he could have been. He nodded faintly to himself, and dragged himself towards the now-noisy university hallway. </p><p>It was better than last year. At least now they talked face to face on their birthday, instead of staring at the screen of his phone late afternoon, debating whether or not he should call his brother... or if he could make another call that would more than likely go straight to the voicemail.  </p><p><em> It is better now</em>, he reminded himself, as he deftly avoided a few hurried groups of students walking towards the exit. <em> And it will be even better later, during lunch.  </em></p><p>He rolled his shoulders, straightening his back, and poised and reassured he strolled through the university - the small corner of Sileal’s world in which he had kindly been let into.<br/><br/></p><p>
  <em> 14:20 </em>
</p><p>Solas checked his mechanical wristwatch for the fifth time in the last three minutes, alternating between the slow-moving hands and the university’s main entrance, still hoping that his brother would push past the revolving doors. Though he knew it was a futile exercise - as there was no way to reach the restaurant in ten minutes - he repeated the movements as if this would bring back the time lost waiting in the park. Absent-mindedly, he palpated the outline of the birthday card, that now seemed both too much and too little of a present.</p><p>The choice of restaurant was perfect. Menus after menus had been researched months in advance, to find one that offered a dish that he remembered Sileal truly enjoyed. Then, of course, it was a matter of proximity to the university: it needed to be close-by, in order to make matters easier for his brother when leaving work. It was never an issue for Solas, as their birthday always fell during the high schools’ break in Guardian. </p><p>Then, it was an issue of upscale.</p><p>Sileal had remained in close touch with their parents and therefore inherited the extravagant - <em> Pretentious </em> , he quickly corrected himself - taste of their circle.  Though, he could not judge his brother harshly for this, as they both retained the mind for posturing for every occasion: Sileal’s crisp grey tweed suit even if it was in a cut and style that aged him considerably, to Solas’ bright navy outfit for which he had to save up several months to buy. It was simply how appearance was treated in the Talas household, '<em>how it was, is and will be done</em>’ in their mother’s words.</p><p>And still, it only meant that he could not make a reservation to <em> any </em> restaurant, no matter how much he wanted. And so he saved up, paid in advance for a table at the Orlesian “Le Jardin de Montsimmard” and showed up in his best attire, as per the place’s etiquette. </p><p><em> What a ridiculous present</em>, Solas thought, dejectedly pinning the pavement in front of his bench. <em> I should not have done this, it was too much to put him through this.  </em></p><p>If only they could return to the simpler time of their childhood. When stopping in a park after art class, with a bag full of fresh pastries was the norm on this day. The fresh and inviting scent of orange spiced with cinnamon would fill their senses, and bits of chopped walnuts and pastry flakes would fall in their lap as they eagerly bit into the warm pinwheels. With a smile that acknowledged what was possibly the greatest mischief in their mind, they toasted with the second serving of pinwheels. </p><p><em> “To us,</em><em>” </em> Solas would say, taking the same posture as their father would when giving a discourse, crumbs falling from his lap as he’d stand up. </p><p><em> “To us,</em>” Sileal would answer in the same manner. <em> “And to the only toast that matters today. </em>”  </p><p><em> “Naturally,</em>” he would grin, already devising all the ways they would tacitly make fun of the ridiculous customs and behaviour of the guests of the party later that afternoon.</p><p>A party they never asked for, put together by their self-declared socialite mother, with guests that they never cared for and toasts that would always make them uncomfortable. As if declaring all their minute accomplishments, along with those of their fathers’, to a dining room full of their parents’ friends and their children was an enjoyable celebration for them. Dressing them up in brand-new, designer suits and parading them around, each and every year. </p><p>
  <em> Maybe some fresh spiced orange pinwheels would have been more appropriate. </em>
</p><p>He shook his head.</p><p>
  <em> No. Don’t be ridiculous, Solas, that would have been overstepping the already thin line. </em>
</p><p>But he was probably already overstepping it. Possibly. Most definitely. After sixteen lonely years away from his brother, <em> his best friend</em>, he would have to excuse himself the excitement of finally spending some quality time together.</p><p>With or without fresh pastries. </p><p>Solas took out his phone and opened a webpage to the bookmarked <em>Jardin</em>, quickly scrolling to the desert menu. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> 14:35 </em>
</p><p>Even if they served their childhood treat it would be too late to make it in time for the reservation, and Sileal was still nowhere in sight.</p><p>He paused for a moment, staring blankly at the filigreed logo of the Orlesian restaurant. Out of reflex, he readjusted the collar of his coat, to more efficiently keep away the wind - he barely felt cold, even though he hadn’t moved much from the bench in the past hour. The park was becoming animated, as students started the break by enjoying the warmer Guardian day.</p><p>Undoubtedly, taking all the seats away from the shade, as opposed to what he had done.</p><p>With newfound determination, Solas found and opened the map application on his phone, looking for other options nearby. He had been given another chance at reconnection, there was no way he was about to squander it. And, for once, he would be the thoroughly organised brother. </p><p>“Sileal?”</p><p>His fingers froze, hovering a millimeter above the touchscreen. A deep urgency to rake his nails over his scalp sent daggers at his impulses, and he may have taken it up had the need to appear nonchalant not prevailed. He readjusted his seat, kept his eyes to the screen, and prepared himself for Sileal to finish his discussion with his acquaintance.</p><p>“Sileal Talas? Is that you?!”</p><p>But the person seemed to head towards his bench rather than the university entrance. Solas finally raised his gaze towards the newly arrived, and found his assumption to be correct: she was an elven woman, possibly close in age to him, with long chestnut hair tied in a messy ponytail. She was not wearing any coat, but instead she had opted for what looked to be a very warm chunky-knit sweater in rust, oversized and almost too large for her height. Dark wash jeans, tucked into russet ankle boots, completed her outfit whose colours made her seem like a vision of autumn rather than befitting the late-winter month they were in. The fallen-leaves tones were completed by a pair or emerald green eyes, lively and scrutinising, as she studied him intensely. Not unlike him, he supposed, though before he could answer, her eyes widened in surprise.</p><p>“Shut the front door, it is you!” she continued, her tone just shy of shouting. “I never thought I’d catch the day when you’d shave off your hair! How come you took this decision?!”</p><p>“I am…” he began, but stopped himself just as quickly as the words left his lips, his explanation replaced by flashes of a childhood prank they often played. </p><p>He cleared his throat and straightened his back, attempting to emulate what little he knew of Sileal now.</p><p>“I thought a change in appearance was necessary,” Solas replied with a slight shrug.</p><p>The woman repositioned her arms around the books and notes she was carrying - <em>“The Essential Cosmic Perspective”,</em> <em>something- “- to Modern Astrophysics”</em>, he noticed among the stack. </p><p>“It’s a good choice,” she said, with a mixture of curiosity and amusement in her voice - <em> Is my cover already blown? </em> - “It suits you. How are you? What are you up to now?”</p><p>He spent another moment watching her rearrange the notes on top of her books, their corners lifted by the wind. Not that his shaved hair had ever been a conscious choice, but a mere necessity from the wounds he had once inflicted on himself. </p><p><em> It is a compliment for Sileal,</em> he emphasised. </p><p>“I am taking a break from sitting in the office by enjoying the lovely day today. Afterwards - I will be back to working again.”</p><p>As soon as he finished, he had to stop himself from cringing. <em> Such stilted sentences,</em> he chastised himself, remembering how much easier it used to be.</p><p>“Are you still working on that behavioural paper for students with disabilities? Any progress on it?”</p><p>It was his turn to widen his eyes, and he played it off by rubbing them with his knuckles, careful not to move his contacts. Sileal never told him what he was working on, yet how fitting of him to be working on such a brilliant subject. </p><p>“Some days are better than others... You know how it is.”</p><p>She laughed. “Mysterious as ever. Sileal! You know I can’t do anything with that information anyway, I don’t know anything about psychology and I’d never try to mess you up!”</p><p>It was a relief for Solas to hear this from one of Sileal’s friends, as he was not the only one he wouldn’t share much about his life with. Though, he supposed, his brother had never cared much for this and had always been secretive towards everyone - everyone, except for him. </p><p>There was still time to regain Sileal’s trust. He was still the same, introverted and ambitious, understanding and sharp. Solas only needed to show him that he hadn’t changed either.</p><p>And he knew his brother would appreciate this harmless identity swap.</p><p>“I apologise. I just cannot say more at this moment…” he replied quietly, yet trying to change the subject. “Where are you headed to?”</p><p>“Oh, just going to the Calenhad building. Setting up before the lab. You know how it is.”</p><p>She smirked, amused by her own reference to his earlier words. Her smile pushed a dimple into her cheek and brightened her emerald green eyes, which only seemed to gradually warm up as his own smile grew.</p><p>He caught himself smiling. </p><p>“I’ll have to leave you now, to the rest of your break,” she said, quickly looking at her watch. “I’ll see you around, yes?” </p><p>Without waiting for an answer, she already began walking past his bench and towards the other end of the park. Solas watched the trail of chestnut hair, gently blown by the wind. </p><p>“Yes,” he whispered, and ran his nails over his head. </p><p>The next quarter of an hour was uneventful. As the previous classes were nearing their end, students began traversing the otherwise quiet park, filling it with chatter and laughter. Fragments of discussions made their way to him - <em> ‘Do you want to grab something to eat?’ </em> , <em> ‘Ask Dagna for help, she’ll know the answer!’,</em> ‘ <em> I’ll meet you all in the class.’ </em> - drowning away any chastisements that he might have had for Sileal or himself, as the jumbled noises became his new backdrop.</p><p>Just as he resumed his previous habit of checking the time and the university main entrance in precise succession, he noticed the familiar silhouette that he had been anticipating since exiting his office. His brother was walking slowly, seemingly focused more on the cigarette between his fingers than the cobbled path ahead of him, as if he was mechanically tracing familiar steps. Now dressed in his Payne’s grey coat and scarf, he was leaving a cloud of smoke behind.</p><p><em> What a stark difference between us</em>, Solas noted to himself, remembering the reaction of Sileal’s friend to his appearance. She had expected long hair, half falling in undefined waves on his shoulders and half tied into a quick bun, the colour of burnt umber. He tossed it over his shoulder with an annoyed motion, as the light breeze began to quicken and was blowing his locks over his face - that was one aspect of having long hair that Solas didn’t miss. Even their wrinkles had deepened in divergent places: his laugh lines were the most pronounced, whereas his brother bore the mark of habitual frowning. </p><p>Sileal stopped by his bench, drawing a long inhale of the cigarette and studying some blade of grass. He took his time puffing out the smoke, while Solas crossed his arms.</p><p>“Apologies. It has taken longer than I expected,” Sileal finally spoke, almost sounding like reciting a note and still eyeing the patch of grass.</p><p>“I hardly noticed,” Solas quipped. He rearranged his coat’s collar, in an attempt to mask the disappointment in his voice that threatened to surface. “Well. I was not anticipating that we would be leaving the university at this hour. We had a reservation for lunch at-” </p><p>He stopped himself, realising how ridiculous his whole plan had been from the beginning. </p><p>“A restaurant nearby,” he settled, “as I told you earlier, but we missed it.”</p><p>Sileal hummed. “That’s a pity. There is a café just outside the park, and a quick meal there would work much better for me. I have a previous commitment that I must honour soon.”</p><p>A pit of dejection settled in his throat and he forced himself to swallow it down. <em> We are spending time with each other - that is what matters. </em></p><p>“...of course. We would best head towards it, then.”</p><p>They began trudging towards the café, guided by Sileal, in an uncomfortable silence. Though, it seemed to be awkward more for himself than his brother, who continued to smoke, unconcerned by their lack of conversation. Occasionally, students or coworkers waved towards their direction, and he responded in kind with a concise raise of his free hand. </p><p>Solas eyed the edge of the park, at the end of a path that seemed interminable.</p><p>“How is your research going along?”</p><p>“My colleague has had some unexpected results, neither more nor less.” Sileal said. “I won’t bore you with the details.”</p><p>It tore into him that his brother wouldn’t think he would be interested in his work.</p><p>He gave him an encouraging smile. “You know that could not be any farther from the truth.”</p><p>“Mmm,” Sileal hummed while taking another deep inhale of the cigarette, finishing it and stopped right as they reached the park’s exit.</p><p>He rummaged through his coat’s pocket, producing a simple matte black cylinder. Meticulously and with practiced ease, he unscrewed the top, put out the cigarette on the inside of the case and dropped the finished filter inside, screwing the top back on. The cylinder returned to his pocket, and was replaced by a dark-coloured pack and a simple plastic lighter. Solas waited patiently for Sileal to be done lighting another cigarette, looking forward to his explanation of his definitely impressive research.</p><p>He tossed his hair over his shoulder again, frowning and murmuring to himself. </p><p>“It is getting rather chilly,” Sileal said, much to Solas’ disappointment. “I could use an espresso now… The café is just around the corner. Feel free to go inside, I will finish this first.” He punctuated with a deep inhale. “It won’t take long.”</p><p>“I can wait with you,” Solas said, more dryly than he intended.</p><p>They moved out of the way and, with it, another awkward silence followed. Sileal, content, continued his activity.</p><p>“I met one of your friends,” Solas attempted a discussion again.</p><p>“Ah, you did?”</p><p>“A young woman, carrying physics books - <em> astrophysics possibly? </em> - auburn hair.”</p><p>Sileal let out a knowing hum. “Dr. Ghilain. How come the two of you talked?”</p><p>Solas smirked. “She mistook me for you, funnily enough.”</p><p>“And you played along.”</p><p>“It seemed to me that she knew you well enough but did not know you have a twin.”</p><p>“It simply never came up in a discussion. What did you tell her?”</p><p>“It was only a bit of small talk, nothing more. I was about to explain the situation to her, but she left before I could. She did note on the... “ Solas stopped, motioning to his head, “...hair. Or lack thereof.”</p><p>Sileal let out a low chuckle. “Naturally. I will clear the matters next time I see her.” </p><p>He took in another deeper inhale than usual, and Solas wondered if this was a sign that the discussion was finished once again. </p><p>"That is so expected of you,” Sileal continued, his eyes softly crinkling. “You always tried to pull one on old nan."</p><p>Solas felt a smile tugging at his cheeks. </p><p>Then, the inviting scent of strawberries and vanilla custard flooded his senses, as he entered the spacious kitchen of their grandparents’. The counters were spotless, the dishwasher was whirring, and their grandmother - <em> old nan </em> - was arranging golden pastry cones on a glass tiered display, powdering another layer of sugar over them as she finished her plating. The pink filling was almost spilling from them, being stopped only by a half of a glistening strawberry. </p><p>He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it as Sileal would.</p><p><em> “Solas… no. I already told you, boy, only one cone before dinner,” </em> nan said without interrupting her precise activity.</p><p>He meticulously changed his tone, to match that of his brother’s. </p><p>
  <em> “What! Nan! You got us wrong again, I’m Sileal! I haven’t even had my share yet!” </em>
</p><p>Nan stopped, swayed by his ruse. She gingerly picked up a cone, and Solas could already taste the jam and vanilla custard beneath the flaky sheets of pastry. </p><p>Frowning, she looked him up and down. Her expression smoothed, she sighed, and placed the cone back on the platter.</p><p>
  <em> “At least next time properly dust the powdered sugar off your trousers.” </em>
</p><p>"True,” Solas said, smiling in earnest. “But she always had a knack in figuring out which one of us is which."</p><p>A subtle smirk curled Sileal’s mouth in return. "She knew I disliked those strawberry fillings. Pretending to be me to get another serving was tempting fate."</p><p>"Those were good times."</p><p>And, just as quickly as the memory washed over them it left Sileal: he straightened his shoulders, and took one last deep inhale of the cigarette, finishing it completely. </p><p>"They were," he concluded tightly.</p><p>The rest of the cigarette was smoked in silence, with his brother decisively admiring the now calm park. Solas took out his phone and attempted to busy himself by checking his emails. His eyes scrolled through the greyed titles and the occasional newsletter in bold black lettering. A quiet nod was given to Sileal’s head tilt towards the café and a discreet ‘<em>Let us go.'</em></p><p>The café had a rather modern front, with large windows from floor to ceiling, piped in black frames. A simple black awning overhung above them, and the name <em> “Drakon House” </em> in cadmium brought some colour on an otherwise neutrally-minimalistic aesthetic. Inside, the atmosphere was rather cozy and intimate compared to the image conjured by the exterior. There were a few empty square tables scattered about, two tucked behind a column, and large warm-light fixtures decorating the place. The colour scheme followed the one seen outside, with lampshades in lime green and cadmium bringing some variation. It was not at all an unexpected look for a café given the location within Denerim - the Drakon district had a mixture of old and new buildings. Behind the till, the cashier was reading a book and taking notes on a stack of neon post-its. Some indie pop songs were playing in the background. </p><p>They approached the display shelves: snack packets of crisps, peanuts and a few trendy nutritional bars were the most abundant, while a small grouping of brownies, croissants and one lone cupcake sat on a square parchment paper. Four packs of thin sandwiches - ham, mustard and cheese, and tuna, mayo and sweetcorn - were tucked away in a corner.</p><p>No other savoury options.</p><p>Solas could almost hear his stomach growl in protest.</p><p>“Any recommendations?” he said, as Sileal grabbed himself a tuna sandwich and nutri-bar.</p><p>“The bars are excellent for a quick meal,” Sileal said, with a quick look towards the orange juicer machine. </p><p>“I am in no rush.”</p><p>“Sandwich, then? They are both delicious.”</p><p>Solas drowned out the bubbling objection settling for the ham sandwich. <em> At least we talk now and have met today. That is all that matters</em>, he reminded himself as he steadied his hand. </p><p>As Sileal asked for a fresh orange juice, Solas idly looked around the empty café. His sandwich was taken from his hand with a quick <em> “I will get this</em>” and their transactions were finished even more swiftly as his brother asked the cashier to put the order on his tab.</p><p><em> ‘His tab</em>.<em>'</em></p><p>Solas chuckled softly. </p><p>It had been some time since he had heard anybody have this practice. It should have come at no surprise that his brother would be the one to break this streak.</p><p>They sat down at one of the tables behind the column, with Sileal facing the windows. </p><p>And silence followed yet again, as they began eating their sandwiches. </p><p>“I recall you wanting an espresso,” he said, vaguely pointing at the glass of orange juice.</p><p>“I changed my mind,” Sileal replied, observing the park outside.</p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>Silence.</p><p><em> Rustle, crinkle, crunch </em>.</p><p>Sileal started his nutritional bar.</p><p>“Ah, Sileal!” Solas said, rustling in his own coat. “I almost forgot to give this to you.”</p><p>He took out the birthday card he so carefully had tucked into his interior pocket. It was simple, multicoloured balloons and confetti on a white background, with a straightforward <em> Many Happy Returns! </em>written in the centre. He had forgotten how much time he had spent in the shop, looking for the perfect card that would not be too much or too little, too intrusive or too reserved, too presumptuous or-...</p><p>
  <em> And yet I still settled on “returns”.  </em>
</p><p>“Thank you,” Sileal said, grabbing the card that Solas handed to him, and promptly setting it to his side without a glance.</p><p>“I had meant to give you a more consistent present, with the lunch...” Solas punctuated his sentence with awkward laughter. “I do know that your work takes precedence over everything else, as we have previously discussed.”</p><p>Sileal hummed. “I shall read this later, if you do not mind.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p><em> Slurp</em>, the orange juice was drunk.</p><p>Solas took a deep breath.</p><p>"Drakon University is an excellent choice for college in Ferelden.”</p><p>He paused, waiting for his brother’s comment.</p><p>“Mhm, it is.”</p><p>“Many of my students have expressed interest in applying for the STEM fields it offers.”</p><p>Sileal continued to sip on his orange juice.</p><p>“I believe I have not gotten the chance yet to properly tell you what I do,” Solas said, readjusting himself in his seat. “I teach Orlesian at a High School in the Genitivi District - Lothaire school, if you know it -, and this year the first generation I have had for homeroom class will be looking into applying for university. Some have already decided on psychology.”</p><p>“Ah, they have.”</p><p>“You might be swarmed by a group of highly excited potential students if you will attend the university fair.” Solas chuckled. “They take neuropsycholo-”</p><p>“<em>Clinical </em>psychology,” Sileal interrupted in a low voice, idly mixing the pulp of the orange into the orange juice with his unused paper straw. </p><p>“I… Yes, I apologise. It was not-”</p><p>“It has been a long time since I have changed my degree aspirations.”</p><p>The jab came like a sharpened dagger straight to his heart. Before he had ran away from home, his brother had been oscillating between studying literature or researching the various specialisations within psychology. He knew his twin had always been interested in the essentials of existence, and he found the allegory of stories indispensable in deciphering a person's core - their <em>spirit</em>.</p><p>And Solas eagerly used to learn and share all the elvhen anecdotes, legends or parables he could possibly get his hands on, just to see his brother smile amidst all the problems he faced in class or outside it.</p><p>The discussions were often carried in one of their rooms or on their way home from school, away from the ears of their father - <em> June</em>, he corrected himself - as he constantly criticised both of their choices and instead pushed them towards subjects he deemed as <em> “worthwhile” </em> - whatever that meant. Sileal always had a much more difficult time at school than he did, and to see him light up when talking about the various neurobehavioral concepts that he researched was a joy for Solas. </p><p>It made standing up to June <em> worthwhile</em>. </p><p>Yet he still knew next to nothing about his brother’s life now, as an adult.</p><p>Silence fell over their table once more, as he mulled over the need to commend Sileal for going through with psychology, and how he knew it could not have been easy. </p><p>But he was not going to bring up their parents. Not today.</p><p>“How are you finding it?” he asked instead, and felt the words coat his throat in ash. “Are you still enjoying it?”</p><p>“Tremendously.”</p><p>Sileal was uncomfortable. Of course he would be, he had been as such since the beginning of their meeting today, and still he put in the effort to see him. And it was no surprise that he would feel this way, after so many years of no contact. Solas had felt as if he was the luckiest person alive the moment he received a message from his brother. </p><p>Though could he really blame him for not wanting to be in his presence?</p><p>Sileal stood up, gathered his coat and rubbish. Packed the card into his pocket together with his half-finished nutri-bar. <em> “I have to go now, I will see you another time," </em>he said, arranging his chair under the table. <em> “Certainly. Have a good day,” </em> Solas’ answer came, with a half nod and his eyes stuck to a crumb on the wooden table. The rubbish was thrown, the door was opened and closed with a soft creak and a gust of draft. The crumb slid by the edge of the table. The song changed into an upbeat tune of ukulele and drums.</p><p>It was hard to be alone with himself too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Paper Boats</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy New Year everyone! And we are happy to post a new chapter xD Hope y'all stay safe! Thanks for dropping by here &lt;3</p><p>Please make sure you have Creator Style enabled for this chapter, as we have a bit of CSS and HTML formatting that will make reading easier! If you haven't clicked on 'Hide Creator Style' before, then disregard this note. </p><p>xoxo </p><p>Alexis &amp; Dore</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>-Sileal-</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>10th Guardian, 15:26</em>
</p><p>There was always a sense of freedom before an open road. Sileal let the feeling suffuse him as he drove in silence. The rattle of rubble as the tire's friction sent it hurtling down the chassis was the only sound breaking the monotony of the rhythmic humming of the engine. With his foot heavy on the accelerator, the car was flying through the Wending Expressway, flirting way too close to breaking the speed limit.</p><p>Out of the university and into the stretch of grey with no discernible end in sight, Sileal felt he could breathe again. With nothing but broken white lines guiding him, awashed in pale pinkish-gold hues of approaching eventide, he could just take what the road offered and drive on to nowhere. His hands gripped the gear until his knuckles turned white.</p><p>He could. He <em>really</em> could.</p><p>But the trailing black car with the tinted windows on his rear view mirror reminded him of his reality: of who he was, where he was and where he ought to be.</p><p>
  <em>Safety and security. Caged and corralled.</em>
</p><p>He had an appointment to meet.</p><p>He shifted gear and took a quick turn to the exit that led him straight to Ferelden International Airport, situated in the northern district of Amaranthine. Isabela's flight would be arriving from Ayes-Af and would be landing within Fereldan jurisdiction in an hour or so.</p><p>He turned at a junction, a small road leading to a private maintenance hangar. Flashing his pass to the airport security, he was let in and allowed to wait undisturbed within the premises. He got out of the Swiftwind, leant on the car hood and watched a passenger flight take off in the distance. He lit a cigarette and waited for Isabela to arrive.</p><p>After his fifth smoke, Siren’s Call, a midsize bizjet, was in range. It touched ground after a few moments, halting several meters away from the hangar. This near, the sound of the jet-engine was piercingly loud, and after a few moments they were doused. The exit door opened.</p><p>Isabela Castillon started to deplane. She was a sensuous woman with sun-kissed skin, glowing youthfully still even in her mid-forties. She was garbed in a long ivory-white satin trench coat with puffed sleeves that was hung instead of worn along her shoulders. It barely hid the voluptuous figure in wrap-around silk jumpsuit with a low-hanging décolletage. Its trousers pooled down to her ankles, emphasizing her black open-toed stiletto. Bejeweled hands held on to an equally bejeweled purse and a long golden chain with a sapphire pendant pointed helpfully down her bosom. Even without the help, they were hardly missable. Isabela smiled, her heels clacking along the tarmac as she sashayed towards him.</p><p>Opening his passenger door for her, Sileal greeted her with a quip. "You could have simply landed directly on Alamar."</p><p>She took off her shades, diamonds encrusted the sides, "And miss such a warm welcome?" Isabela quirked her mauve stained lips. "Besides, I'd hate to be at the mercy of your mother's <em>generosity."</em></p><p>Sileal chuckled, “I’m surprised your husband sent you alone straight into the lion’s den.”</p><p>"His name is Luis if you recall. You should at least pretend to try and remember the name of your father's associates," she paused and raised one elegant brow. "And I am <em>offended</em> that you think I’d need his help with this particular set of predators.”</p><p>Sileal smiled coyly. “Am I on that list?”</p><p>Isabela tossed her curled locks with masterful grace and purred. “Scandalously.”</p><p>An airport personnel helped carry her luggage to his trunk. He saw her assessing the upgraded vintage sedan, running a finger along the car's glossy black casing.</p><p>“I do like a man with an old-fashioned taste," she winked, as she entered the passenger seat.</p><p>Sileal thanked the help and closed the trunk firmly. He hopped into the driver’s seat and placed his hand on the gear, but before he could put it on reverse, Isabela touched his hand prompting him to turn. She leant forward, took the cigarette from his lips and gave him a lingering kiss.</p><p>“Happy birthday.”</p><p>“I hope that wasn’t my <em>only</em> present.”</p><p>Isabela smirked, inhaling from the cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly, “Have I ever disappointed?”</p><p>Sileal returned her mischievous smile and dived for a second. But Isabela deftly dodged him and replaced the cigarette back to his lips.</p><p>“Ah, ah. Now you're just being greedy.”</p><p>“Tease.”</p><p>He reversed the car out of parking. Isabela fiddled with the car's stereo, choosing a jazz radio channel. Antivan percussion started to fill the interior and they talked briefly about inconsequential details of their separate lives, but the drive was mostly noted by comfortable silence.</p><p>Upon reaching their destination, a port near Exeforth in Blackmarsh, Sileal secured a 24-hour parking slot for his car. A port assistant helped in carrying Isabela's luggage as the ship's captain greeted them when they boarded his family's private cruising catamaran. The ship travelled the open sea at a slow but steady pace.</p><p>Alone, on the deck, thoughts formed then faded like froth in the undertow. Sileal felt his world still. Memories upon memories resurfaced like the surging of water on the coast, past and present meeting each other like sand and sea. For years, he endured this yearly infestivity on his own, like a wound that was constantly re-opened and re-stitched. Just when he thought he was fine, that this was something he was used to, now <em>he </em>had to go and show his face.</p><p>Sixteen years.</p><p>He took a long inhale, feeling the chemicals burst through his lungs and held it in until he no longer could and coughed them out violently.</p><p>Sixteen <em>fucking </em>years.</p><p>Irritably he threw the unfinished stick out. The sea was apathetic to his anger as the cigarette plopped anti-climatically against the endless blue. He looked down and was relieved to find no reflection could be seen in the water's distorted surface. And even if he could see himself against it, he was glad <em>now </em>they looked as different as they could possibly be.</p><p>And yet, even without the infernal reminders, his mind kept going back to him, replaying the events of the days prior, from the call to the actual meeting, on loop. A resurging echo in his head:</p><p>
  <em>Why did I even agree to it?</em>
</p><p>Willing himself to calm, he ran his hand through his hair. Salt air was assaulting his nose and the Amaranthine winds whipped his locks out of his hair tie. And yet, none of these were sufficient enough distractions.</p><p><em>Enough.</em> He had given the man in the café more thought than he really deserved.</p><p>Locking him out of his mind, not even daring to say his name out loud in his head, Sileal moved towards the private quarters below the deck. Isabela was already lounging by the seat, coat thrown haphazardly to another empty chair. He sat at the one across her. She swirled a glass filled with pinkish alcohol to him.</p><p>"Drink?"</p><p>
  <em>Tempting, but...</em>
</p><p>"No, thank you."</p><p>"Suit yourself." She closed her eyes and stretched her back. The silk was straining on her pert nipples. Ever the exhibitionist. She opened her lids and smirked knowingly in his direction.</p><p>He took his coat and scarf off, and threw them along her pile. "I thought the invitation was after the party?"</p><p>"That's the main course." Her leg shot up, bronze-skinned and smooth. Her bare foot rested first on his thigh. Sileal watched her, amused. Slowly and deliberately, her foot found its way along his crotch, massaging him with her heel. "But a bit of appetizer hurt nobody."</p><p>Sileal placed the leg down and went to her. He took the glass from her hand and placed it by the side table. Isabela looked at him with an arched brow.</p><p>With one pull, he quickly untangled the tie that held her jumpsuit and the silk cascaded like liquid, tracing the contours of her body first before vacating. He wasn't surprised to find she wasn't wearing anything underneath. Isabela watched him coyly, naked and exposed. They started to pet and kiss.</p><p>Sileal let the moment lead him to blissful numbness. The familiarity was comforting.</p><p>Then, he tasted the daiquiri in her lips.</p><p>Strawberry.</p><p>He hated strawberry.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>16:54</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tap, tap.</em>
</p><p>Ashes fell to the sea.</p><p>The island was now a thin grey line against the sunset. The catamaran was drifting along the waves so languidly, it felt like they hadn't moved at all. But the port they had left was now fading against the glint of white and gold. A hand glided on his back. Now fully clothed, somewhat it made the touch feel oddly intimate. Discomfited, but not wanting to offend her, Sileal let it stay.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Isabela leant on the railings beside him.</p><p>Inhale. Exhale. Another tap, another set of ashes. “What do you mean?”</p><p>Isabela watched the foam form along the hull, creating pretty patterns along purplish waters. Sileal continued to puff. His back was forming sweat marks the size and shape of Isabela's hand. Itch seemed to run under his skin, but he ignored it, taking in another lungful of nicotine. He heard her sigh.</p><p>“Sileal, I may be crossing some lines bringing this up, but I want you to know, if you need someone to talk to, I am here.”</p><p>"We are talking."</p><p>"Don't be difficult."</p><p>Silence.</p><p>"Sileal -"</p><p>Sileal interrupted her. “This isn't part of our arrangement.”</p><p>"I'm offering as a friend."</p><p>He kept silent.</p><p>After a pregnant pause, Isabela sighed and slapped her hands on the railings. “Oh, bollocks.”</p><p>She didn’t say anything after that.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>17:27</em>
</p><p>The Aravel Manor, the Talas family’s ancestral house, was like a gleaming gem at the edges of Alamar. It stood isolated on vast acres of land partitioned by trimmed gardens and plain meadows. Thick woods lined the borders of its territory. The western sun coloured the sandstone into a brilliant golden peach, the polished window glass framed and fractured the light within each graceful arch. With its myriad turrets, towers, battlements and cupolas, gables and pinnacles, mixed and matched through the generations of expansions and rebuilding, it was indeed a grandstanding sight. As soon as the catamaran docked, Sileal headed straight to the Orangery. The celebration would be held outdoors in the southern terraces, overlooking the rose garden and <em>Mother’s</em> little orchard conservatory.</p><p>Amidst the final hustle, Sileal found her watching the preparation attentively like a hawk, her severe grey eyes flitted meticulously at each of the workers, her hand playing on her wedding band distractedly. Her once pouty lips were now thinned into a perennial frown and the expression made her look older than her late-fifties. She was wearing a delicate foulard wrapped around her neck in the color of peacock blue, its tails were untucked over her mint-green coat letting it drift lazily in the breeze. Her wardrobe palette made her appear paler than she already was. The light dusting of freckles were the only colouring on her skin now that she forsook any kind of maquillage. She had her hair styled severely into a bun, dyed back to her natural color of reddish brown, in an attempt to recover some of the lost years.</p><p>“Mamà.” Sileal came up to her and kissed both her cheeks.</p><p>Mother was rigid and unresponsive, and when he drew back she was staring into the distance. She had always done so when she wished to express her displeasure. She was what you would call an <em>artiste exemplaire </em>in expressing what she thought without words, and with a huff of dismissal, Sileal knew he had already exhausted her patience with him.</p><p>It reminded him of how it was when he was younger, she would call on him to see her in her <em>boudoir</em>. There, she would wait patiently as she sat in front of her dressing table surrounded by many different mirrors, all made from varied materials, as they were either hung onto the hand-painted walls or supported on the floor by gilded metals. But her favorite was the three large arched mirrors made of Serrault glass that were the crowning centerpieces of her dressing table. Her prim face was reflected severely on the sheen surface as she arranged and rearranged the boxes and jars filled with her jewels: from chokers to pendants, bracelets, brooches and rings. She would wait for him to settle behind her, sitting himself on one of her elegant Orlesian cabriole, then she would look at him indirectly through one of the cunningly angled glasses. The many reflective surfaces around the room left an impression of an invisible eye that watched and judged him with prejudicial impunity. <em>Glass eyes</em>, he called them, an apt way to describe the pejorative stormcloud irises he also shared with her.</p><p>Currently, still without looking at him directly, she said. “You’re late.”</p><p>He was not, Sileal knew. But Mother had her own way of measuring time, and in this facsimile reality of hers he always never made it. Undeterred by the cool reception, Sileal flashed her with his winning smile and quipped, “The party does not truly begin without its celebrant.”</p><p>But Mother was neither charmed nor amused. “That is not the <em>done</em> thing in this household, Sileal Talas,” she said, gritting every syllable of his name to drill her disappointment, as if it wasn’t evident enough. To think of how often he had to hear it, he ought to be used to that by now. But he wasn’t.</p><p>Not even after three decades.</p><p>“Hurry along now and do change into something decent, you smell like you were pulled out of the chimney." Mother scrunched her nose delicately for extra measure.</p><p>Sileal swallowed back the black thing that swam at the shallows of his consciousness, those little algae of resentment he nurtured in the swamps of his mind. He stretched his lips in a faux smile, and then nodded. “Yes, mamà.”</p><p>“I’m afraid I may have been the cause of the delay.”</p><p>Mother’s eyes quickly drifted to the sound of the voice. Sileal had forgotten Isabela was following behind him. No doubt she had witnessed the rather warm familial reception. Mother and son bonding and all that.</p><p>The atmosphere changed drastically.</p><p>Mother’s eyes gleamed and she now had on her professional smile. Her arms were outstretched as she embraced Isabela with flawless showmanship, kissing her on both her cheeks. “Ms. Castillon, so good of you to come!”</p><p>“Always delighted to be here, Sylaise!” Isabela returned just as sweetly. “Unfortunately, my darling Luis could not make it.”</p><p>“I see. Pray tell your business wasn’t too affected by the tensions in Seheron?”</p><p>Isabela waved her hand, “A minor crease, nothing more, but prudence suggests it must be dealt with. You know how it is."</p><p>"Indeed."</p><p>Sileal nodded to the two women and excused himself. As soon as he entered the manor, uniformed servants greeted him as he passed. The place was dazzled with all the lights bouncing off glass, crystals and polished marbles. The interior was a mixture of hard stone, ironbark for the roof beams and oak for the floor, all logged and mined from the Brecilian Forest. Heading straight to the West Wing, he stopped shortly at a pair of identical doors leading to identical rooms. His eyes lingered briefly to the one that remained locked for nearly two decades. He then turned, opening the carved double-doors to his childhood bedroom.</p><p>His old room was immaculate. Gaudy, pretentious and smelt strongly of nostalgia. Not much has changed since he had left and resided in a bungalow he bought in the hilly suburb of Tullburry, near Eastwood. The suit his mother had chosen for him laid on the king sized bed. He caressed the fine tailoring. Blue. Blue was never <em>his </em>color. He washed first then put it on and watched himself become someone else.</p><p>The son they always wanted.</p><p>Looking at the full-length mirror, Sileal scrutinized the image it projected. He looked like the very image of success. He was young, healthy and vibrant. A man living the prime years of his life. He had wealth, intellect and prestige. Everything they ever wanted.</p><p><em>Everything </em>I<em> ever wanted</em>, he corrected.</p><p>He folded his used coat and something resisted through the cloth. He rummaged through the pocket and found himself struck by the sharp end of a thick paper. Sileal pulled it out and saw the brightly coloured card with its saccharine, golden loops that read <em>Many Happy Returns!</em> popping out from the white background with its multicoloured balloons and confetti.</p><p>He opened it and it read:</p><p>
  <em>Lathemast isa'ma'lin,</em>
</p><p>The <em>elvish </em>endearment pierced through to him as sudden as a gunshot. It was as if the years had not passed and he was still a doe-eyed teen full of prospects for a brighter future, unheeding of the looming darkness ahead. A vicious recollection gripped him. He too had once folded a letter in kind and in it he poured out all his affection:</p><p>
  <em>To the best brother in the world.</em>
</p><p>It was received by no one.</p><p>At the present, the letter crinkled beneath his grip. The lighter strained at his trouser pocket. By habit he took it out and he absent-mindedly kept rolling his thumb at the spark wheel.</p><p>He read them again and the letters began to burn through his eyes and it continued to blaze, tracing a gunpowder line straight to his heart. Sileal bit through his cheeks. The bitter taste of iron inflamed his tongue. His eyes drifted to the meticulously labored print, but the lines wavered and his sight started to sting.</p><p>The words now refused to be read.</p><p>Want and wrath dueled in his mind.</p><p>With a decisive flick of his thumb, friction ignited a flame.</p><p>A knock on his door startled him. The lighter snapped dead. Sileal quickly hid the letter by his breast pocket and proceeded to tie his bow. Certain he felt steady, he cleared his throat and announced: “Come in.”</p><p>“Master Sileal?” came the greeting of one of the servants; he was young and newly employed. “Master June wishes to see you at his study.”</p><p>With a resigned sigh, he said: "Thank you. I will be there in a moment."</p><p>He eyed his pack and lighter by the dressing table and stomped the urge to smoke. He looked through the mirror once more, straightening himself and ensuring not one wrinkle was out of place. He closed his eyes, breathed in and out slowly. And when he opened them once more, his face was a polished mask.</p><p>Impenetrable.</p><p>The walk to <em>Father's </em>study felt longer than the five minutes it took. His home office was situated at the opposing end of the hall from his room. Wooden shelves lined the walls filled with volumes with gold-leaved titles glinting through the glass casings. Carpets hand-weaved by Antivan master craftsmen muffled the soles of his shoes as he stepped forward to the large red-stained ironbark desk where Father sat, styled after the delicate, sinuous curves the Dalish carvers were known for. He was framed by the august floor-to-ceiling arched window stained green by patterns inspired by floras and faunas of the Dales.</p><p>"You called for me, papà?"</p><p>Father was nearing his seventies, but he was one of those people who appear unidentifiable by age. The only clue to his seniority was the finely brushed silver strands that were pulled neatly back on mid-length hair. Father had an austere long face, clean-shaven with high cheekbones, thin lips and a cleft chin. He had on a dark tailored suit over a maroon shirt, the first two rows were unbuttoned. His attention was absorbed by the document he had on hand. Other than a custom wristwatch, he had no other accessory on him. Not even his wedding ring.</p><p>Two more chairs were on the other end of his table. Sileal hovered like an obedient foot soldier; near enough to be visible in his periphery, but far enough not to be obtrusive. He stood like for a while, hand carefully tucked behind him to avoid Father seeing him slightly fidget.</p><p>After a moment and forever, Father said:</p><p>"Sit."</p><p>Sileal obeyed quietly. The scratching of the fountain pen against paper filled the silence. He waited silently for his sentence.</p><p>Father waited several seconds more before continuing.</p><p>"It is time to expand your responsibilities to the family," he began without preamble. "I will be assigning you as the Operations Manager, effective immediately."</p><p>The blow was delivered quickly and Sileal felt his chest cave. "I have commitments to Drakon University -"</p><p>"You will file for your resignation."</p><p>Sileal's jaws quickly shut. He cleared his throat and schooled his features, reining in the dejection that threatened to break his posture. He silently thanked his clinical training for that.</p><p>He always took his responsibility in the university seriously. He built up a decent career there, all through his own efforts. His <em>own</em> merit. He couldn't just abandon years of toil so simply without turning all stones. Sileal quickly rummaged his mind for words that would help him convince Father.</p><p>Pleading certainly wasn't one of them.</p><p>Evenly, he said, "This is sudden."</p><p>Father raised his sharp eyes to him. They were the deepest of blue.</p><p>"If you think this was sudden, then you weren't paying enough attention. We've given you five years to play around selfishly in that <em>'career'</em> of yours. It is now time to return to what you were always meant to do."</p><p>
  <em>A career you've opposed the entire time.</em>
</p><p>"I ask for another year, papà."</p><p>Father stared.</p><p>Sileal swallowed. "The academic year had just started, it would take a while for me to prepare everything for a smoother transition."</p><p>In the silence, Father's displeasure was palpable, and Sileal tensed. He felt sweat bead along his back. It was a risk but he needed to push his luck. With extreme effort, he controlled the emotions that were clawing up his throat.</p><p>"My position in the university is important, it would be unprecedented to leave abruptly."</p><p>Father enunciated his words strongly, as if speaking to someone obtuse. "This is not a negotiation."</p><p>"I know, papà. I am simply -"</p><p>"And yet you persist."</p><p>"I… no, I am not -"</p><p>"Were my intentions not clear enough?"</p><p>"...No, papà… you were -"</p><p>"<em>Speak up,</em> boy."</p><p>A pregnant silence.</p><p>"No."</p><p>Father eyed him expectantly.</p><p>"You were clear."</p><p>"Good. You will start reporting this Monday."</p><p>And with that, Father dismissed him with the scraping of a pen on his paper.</p><p>Panic threatened to overwhelm him, hands shaking, he clenched them tightly. Sileal breathed long and slow, preparing for the incoming car crash. He tried again, voice low but resolute.</p><p>Father <em>despised </em>weakness.</p><p>"Papà, allow me to maintain my professionalism." <em>Please. </em>"...That is all I ask."</p><p>The air felt still.</p><p>Sileal couldn't meet his eyes as it would be too challenging. He couldn't look down as it would appear meek. Instead, he kept his sight to the hand-printed globe map on the display desk behind Father. The afternoon glow drew a crescent along its edges. He could feel Father's gaze boring through to him, but Sileal did his best to keep his face even and his posture steady.</p><p>"A semester," Father said with finality.</p><p>Sileal let go of the breath he was holding. A semester was too short, but he doubted he could get more than that. To ask more was to tempt fate and so Sileal accepted the morsel with submissive despondence.</p><p>Father moved on with his agenda smoothly, "I have assigned Josephine Montilyet as your personal secretary. You will be reporting to the company three times a week, exclusive of our monthly reports. I trust you can manage to sort your schedules accordingly. And Sileal, I expect you to perform commendably."</p><p>His last word sounded like a threat. An onset of a headache began to throb at the back of his head. Between his multiple researches and responsibilities as a counselor, this added job was an unwelcome strain. And yet all he could say was:</p><p>"Yes, papà."</p><p>"You are my heir. But you will have to earn the will and grit to run this company. Your new position is temporary. This transitory period should train you for what is to come,” his gaze was sharpened steel. “I will <em>not </em>tolerate embarrassments."</p><p>Sileal nodded and remained silent.</p><p>Content that there would be no protestations on his end, Father again continued:</p><p>"Gisharel's daughter will be visiting Ferelden a week from now. Be sure to entertain her."</p><p>It took Sileal by surprise. This was an odd request. <em>Gisharel's daughter… </em>He tried to summon a name. <em>Ghilan'nain, </em>Sileal finally recalled. They had met briefly a few years ago. She was seventeen then and he was twenty-nine. Pale, tall and pretty, an aspiring fashion designer if he remembered correctly. At that time, he was swamped by studying to pay her any thought. Suffice to say, they weren't at all well acquainted.</p><p>"I wasn't aware you and Gisharel were close."</p><p>"Her father and I have discussed the possibility of a merger. Dangling the idea of his daughter becoming a part of our family would make the deal more alluring."</p><p>A chill ran through him. "...Isn't she old enough to marry whomever she wished?"</p><p>
  <em>Or to choose not at all.</em>
</p><p>"Whatever her father's concern about her is irrelevant. What's relevant is the opportunity this affords us."</p><p>"Opportunity."</p><p>"Gisharel is eager to pass on his familial problems, enough that he could overlook many things," he smirked. "She is quite the little hellion from what I've heard."</p><p>That didn't answer his question at all. Something black was resurfacing from his heart. "I'm surprised you would want someone like that as your daughter-in-law."</p><p>Father scoffed. "I know of <em>your</em> proclivities as well, you are hardly as discreet as you think you are. Not that it matters to me."</p><p><em>Of course it wouldn't, you have your own share of mistresses</em>. Mother never failed to lament about them back then, drunk and dejected at three o'clock in the afternoon.</p><p>Sileal smiled wanly, "It seems we would make a great pair."</p><p>"She is old blood. Her family is respectable."</p><p>"An heiress to an immense wealth… Not that we were ever want for anything."</p><p>"It is a good match on the surface."</p><p><em>Never mind that we'd both be miserable. </em>What a jest. His nails dug through the armchair. "An arranged marriage. How medieval."</p><p>Father must have caught the bitterness from his voice. He sharply replied: "They are traditional."</p><p>"What of her family to me?"</p><p>"They are only too lucky to have found a match in you."</p><p>
  <em>And the prospect of having access to assets her father currently doesn't have.</em>
</p><p>Father looked smug. "Gisharel bemoaned his daughter's lack of <em>practical </em>interest, he is very eager to see this arrangement to its conclusion."</p><p>"He seems to like having his cake and eating it too."</p><p>Father chuckled. "His ambition blinds him."</p><p>The arrogance from Father's voice caught Sileal and he straightened. "I thought you were aiming for a merger?"</p><p>"That is what we have discussed during the proposal, yes." Father leant back and smiled.</p><p>Nothing about dealing with Father was ever straight forward. There was always some technical jargon that was missable or otherwise <em>misinterpreted. </em>Traps hidden beneath technicalities and clauses. Sileal began to unwrap what devious strategies his Father employed.</p><p>"You would lead Gisharel into thinking you would want a direct influence in his company, but truly all you wanted was whatever 'initial' agreement you both had from the start." <em>Perhaps, setting up a false dichotomy between his choices?</em></p><p>Father had a look that said: <em>go on.</em></p><p>"And I presume, he is surrounded by other sharks and in comparison it would make dealing with you the lesser risk,” Sileal said. <em>You probably stirred the blood in the water. Or perhaps, even placed the sharks in the same tank...</em></p><p>Gisharel cared for his daughter and showed it the way any parent with too much money and too little time would - spoiling her so.<em> My pretentious relationship with her would act as Father's smokescreen, leading Gisharel into the illusion of safety, thinking if he could secure our marriage, surely it would not matter if his company will be shared amongst my family. But he knew a fat catch like Father would not bite without an initial agreement - a dowry, if you will. Gisharel would think this would be a small price to pay for a larger gain. Instead, he would focus his time to word the pre-nuptial agreement to ensure that Ghilan'nain's financial future would be secured, thinking being part of the board membership was what Father was after. But all Father needed was a claw within and he would tear him apart, like an ivy breaking through a wall of concrete. </em></p><p>The infamous <em>June's Knot.</em></p><p>This was not about money, or resources, or expansion. This was about dominance. Power. Plain and simple. This business venture was nothing more but a sport to Father. An added collection to his growing conglomerate corporation was merely a side benefit.</p><p>He did live by adage: <em>'It's not enough that I succeed. You have to fail.' </em>It was a belief that landed him as one of the top tycoons of the construction field, obliterating those who opposed him and making the Evanura Industries into a massive company with a multi-billion sovereign revenue. Devouring his competitors was what Father was good at after all.</p><p>As full realization dawned on Sileal, a satisfied smile played on Father's lips.</p><p>"Why storm the enemy gate when you can lure them into welcoming you as a friend..." Sileal smiled wanly.</p><p>Not a word of compliment for figuring out his game, but Sileal knew Father was pleased, it was evident in the inflection of his voice. "Once Gisharel signs the agreement you can leave the arrangement. You are still my son. I will not see you settled with a gormless minger."</p><p>A red light flashed at his desk phone. Father eyed it disinterestedly then he began to straighten himself. Sileal already knew what it meant.</p><p>"I have an affair I need to address immediately. I will leave you and your mother to attend to our guests this evening." His hand was already on his phone, calling his chauffeur.</p><p>
  <em>Of course.</em>
</p><p>Before he could stand up and depart, Sileal spoke softly:</p><p>"I met him again today."</p><p>He did not need to say who. They both knew who he had meant.</p><p>Father paused, his face strained for a miniscule second before ironing it to a show of inscrutability.</p><p>Sileal almost laughed. Apparently, he wasn't as unaffected about this matter as he'd like to project.</p><p>Father pulled a decanter of whiskey from his desk and two glasses. He poured at both. The amber liquor was deep and rich. Sileal took his offer, watching the swirling liquid catch the warm chandelier lights. Father drank and smacked his lips.</p><p>A contemplative pause. "Does your mother know?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Good. I do not wish to deal with her hysterics."</p><p>
  <em>Why am I not surprised? You're only concerned with how it would inconvenience you.</em>
</p><p>"Aren't you even mildly curious about how he is?" Sileal bit back his tongue. The inquiry sounded more scathing than he had intended.</p><p>Miraculously, Father looked more amused than offended. He leant back and tucked his crossed hands above his abdomen. His pointed stare was telling.</p><p>Sileal chuckled humorlessly. The realization escaped him in a choked murmur, "...You've always known."</p><p>Father remained silent.</p><p>Black bile lingered in his gut, spreading like poison - an escaped pain that he had forgotten even existed.</p><p><em>All these years you knew.</em> Sileal felt his eyes moisten. Only his immense pride kept it from forming tears and falling. <em>You knew and you kept us all in the dark.</em> He closed his eyes and silently berated himself. It was foolish of him to feel this way. He couldn't even understand <em>why</em> he felt this way.</p><p>
  <em>Is this not the price of my brother's selfishness? Had he not torn this family apart? Is it not Father's prerogative to keep us free from his rotting influence?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But then, why does this revelation hurt me so?</em>
</p><p>A firm hand on his shoulder jolted Sileal. Father now stood before him. With a light squeeze, he said:</p><p>"I only have one son. I trust he won't disappoint."</p><p>The unexpected affection locked Sileal's spine straight as a rod.</p><p>No. He was not his brother. He would <em>not</em> be like his brother. His fist clenched until his nails made crescent marks across his palm, burning the image of that man in the university café in his mind. A poor prodigy in a dingy suit, projecting a memory of a life he no longer was a part of. Sileal wouldn't make the same mistake as he did.</p><p>
  <em>I will not be a failure.</em>
</p><p>Father narrowed his eyes and Sileal did not flinch nor look away from its searing heat this time.</p><p>"I understand, papà."</p><p>Father smiled with subtle satisfaction and with that he left.</p><p>Sileal sat there alone in the study for a while, turning the glass between his hands. With a new resolve, he downed the drink in one go. The whiskey tasted strong and warm.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>18:30</em>
</p><p>"Where's your father?"</p><p>Sileal walked beside Mother, her liquor now conveniently in hand. He was back to it again, playing the familiar role of messenger. He stretched his lips in a semblance of a placating smile.</p><p>"He had an urgent business to settle. He wished for us to enjoy the party despite his absence," he fabricated smoothly.</p><p>Mother chuckled. It was bitter and hollow. "So, he can't be bothered to ensure that we do so personally?" He opened his mouth, but Mother silenced him with a wave of her hand, "I don't wish to hear any of your excuses for his behalf."</p><p>"...I'm sorry."</p><p>Mother only shuddered in discontent. She drank the glass dry and wiped daintily at the edges of her lips. Revitalized by alcohol she beamed at him, sparkling brightly like a glass-bottomed bauble.</p><p>Everything was fine now.</p><p>The show was on.</p><p>His smiles were ready. His hand-shaking was practiced. His platitudes were all waiting at the roll of his tongue. His posture, perfect.</p><p>The perfect son.</p><p>Sileal offered his arm and she took it gracefully as they headed out to greet their guests; politicians, business moguls, movie stars and those who claimed upon themselves relevance and self-importance. Father's associates melding with Mother's acquaintances and Sileal roved along the ripple of vain, vapid and vacuous crowds.</p><p>The lights were dizzying, their laughter were static noises. He plastered a polite mask against the horde of well-wishers with their fake felicitations and fake dentures. They cheered and raised their glasses as they sunk themselves to decadence as a show of their favorable wishes for his health and happiness.</p><p>
  <em>Whatever.</em>
</p><p>Sileal drank.</p><p>The champagne tasted like acid and it burned through his throat.</p><p>The rest of the evening passed by him in a blur - a melange of indiscernible sensory stimuli. Bright. Loud. Prickly. His body felt heated despite the cool breeze of Guardian and a warning of an oncoming headache pulsed at his temple. He felt like throwing up.</p><p>Sileal hurriedly excused himself, not that it mattered now. Deep into the night, the celebration had gotten the better of its many celebrants. Sileal easily slipped past to the shadows, his presence less relevant than what the festivity offered. He headed towards their private docks, far from the raucous noise and rabid eyes. The headache seemed to disperse the farther he got. It was quiet down here, save for the bobbing of boats along the rocks and the light toiling of buoys several meters away. Sileal slumped down at the clammy cement, uncaring that the rough surface would destroy the fabric of his tailored suit.</p><p>He needed to smoke.</p><p>Absent-mindedly, he patted himself for his pack. A soft rustle along his breast pocket caught his attention. Pulling the paper out, he was surprised to find he had stored the card there. With the faint light from the nearby post, the handwritten words were barely illegible. Still, he persisted, his need for a cigarette currently forgotten. Focusing, he began to read.</p>
<p></p><div class="box-wrapper">
<p></p><div class="box">
<p></p><div class="pseudo-box">
<p></p><div class="messagebody"><p>Lathemast isa’ma’lin,</p><p>There are simply no words in the Common Tongue to truly describe the joy I feel to find myself in the position of being close to you once more. Wishing you all the happiness in the world.</p><p>Solas</p></div></div></div></div><p>He studied the words as if they held the answer to a question he didn't even know how to ask or even contemplate. He flipped the card over, fiddled with the paper in case there was another message cleverly tucked in there somewhere. Something that would make sense. <em>Something...</em></p><p>There was nothing.</p><p>That was all there was to it.</p><p>After another rereading, he finally gave up, feeling more tired and torn than he had ever been.</p><p>
  <em>Broken dreams and broken promises.</em>
</p><p>He felt the need to get away. Far, far away.</p><p>With nothing to do, nothing to curb the itch deep beneath his skin, he began folding the card into a tiny boat and pushed it out to the sea. <em>Sailing. </em>The plastic finish made the little paper boat float defiantly against the black depths of the eveningtide. <em>Searching. </em>But the water kept pushing the little thing back to the island, until finally, one sweeping wave toppled it and it lay sideways on a barnacled rock, scratched and stuck further by every billow.</p><p>
  <em>Sinking...</em>
</p><p>It never stood a chance.</p><p>Huddled in the darkened corner, with his knees close to his body, Sileal spent the rest of the evening quietly watching the flickering lights at the distant shore.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Credit to RuBecSo on DA art for providing such a detailed map of Ferelden and its the one we are using as basis for this fic, check it out in the links:</p><p>https://www.deviantart.com/rubecso/art/Ferelden-Map-Detailed-722041354</p><p> Thank you all for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Sky’s the Limit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>-Mirwen-</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>10th Guardian, 16:55</em>
</p><p>“Do you understand the Fraunhofer limit a bit better now?”</p><p>Mirwen patiently watched as scribbles were mindlessly formed onto the paper while her student took in the examples they had gone through. She could see his eyes dashing from one side to the other, his worried expression slowly melting into understanding.</p><p>Or partial understanding, at the very least. Hopefully?</p><p>His hands dropped to his lap and he quietly nodded a shy <em>‘yes’</em>.</p><p>“Do you have any questions about it?” Mirwen asked gently, trying to deduce where his eyes landed on the paper.</p><p>The door to their classroom opened again. It was a student from the next course. She glazed over the almost-empty room, looked at the clock hung over the filled whiteboard, then back at their spot near the teacher’s desk.</p><p>“Just a couple more minutes please!” Mirwen said, backing the student out into the noisy corridor.</p><p>Her own student seemed unfazed by it all, still searching the paper in front of him, donning a bit of a deer in headlights look.</p><p>“No… I don’t think so,” he said, a bit more confidently than he looked.</p><p>Mirwen smiled, and began to gather her books and whiteboard markers.</p><p>“I’m glad to hear it! Please don’t hesitate to ask more questions. And please don’t be afraid to knock on my door during drop-in hours, you know where my office is, right?” The student shook his head <em>‘yes’</em> again. “If you can’t find it, ring my number on the buzzer outside the office area. Or follow Dr. Pavus’ laughter, chances are he’ll be right in front of my door.”</p><p>The joke seemed to lighten him up a bit. <em>Good sign</em>.</p><p>“Thank you, Miss Ghilain, I will.”</p><p>“Right, now let’s get out of here before the next class’ teaching assistant sees that I haven’t wiped the whiteboard.”</p><p>They left the classroom together and found the next group all lined against the walls. Walking through the corridor was difficult, having to avoid stepping on open notebooks sprawled onto the floor, legs from the students who decided to take a seat and block the way, bumping into laughing groups who did not pay attention to anyone else, or simply tired students sipping on their coffee. A few were talking loudly about some party at the nearby dorm. <em>In the middle of the week?!</em> A sliver of anxiety crept in on Mirwen, as images of attending classes after all-nighters pulled all throughout her university years played before her eyes. It was not like they finished a long time ago, and she couldn’t really tell which one she preferred more: the stress of studying, or the stress of not explaining things well enough for others to understand in-class.</p><p>The latter. Definitely the latter.</p><p><em>Damn it, Mirwen!</em> she chastised herself. <em>I need to revise the plans.</em></p><p>By the time she reached the end of the hallway, the students had begun to enter their classroom.</p><p>Even before she was given a faculty position, she had always felt joy while teaching. She was following the footsteps of her parents, although choosing a different subject than her dad’s maths or her mother’s chemistry. Aenor, her younger brother, often joked that she had absorbed all the strong academic genes that ran through their family. Not that he complained, especially now when he could attend any party he wanted to at the Institute of Val Royeaux without having to stress over making it to classes the next day.</p><p>A memory sprung to mind, as she made her way through the university campus.</p><p>‘Two’ desks, made out of one long table with a stack of books as a divider placed in the middle, were waiting patiently before her. Their pupils were restlessly flipping the pages of their notebooks, searching for unclear lessons among various doodles. Behind her, a small clean blackboard was hung on the wall, between shelves filled to the brim with mathematics and chemistry books. Her students for the day were none other than her brother and their best friend Ellana, both in the same class and both with the same issue of not understanding the last maths lesson… and the underlying issue of not wanting to ask her dad to explain it to them again. They were fidgety, nervous, and embarrassed for having asked Mirwen for help, tearing her away from her own studies.</p><p>Little did they know that Mirwen was more than ecstatic for having been asked for help. After all, she knew that all they needed was a little patience, and more attention than what her dad could have given within the large tutoring group.</p><p>The cold air of Guardian announced its presence with a gust of wind cutting through her light clothes like well-sharpened cleavers. She scrunched her nose and cradled her books tighter at her chest, shielding herself against the chilly blades.</p><p>The weather is so capricious during this time of the year. And to think that it was so nice and sunny only a mere couple of hours ago. The park was nearly empty now, apart from a few passers-by.</p><p>Even the weird guy that posed as Sileal was gone.</p><p>It was uncanny how much he resembled the man, with or without the perpetually tied-up hair, grey suits or surly expression that Sileal Talas would default to. The mannerisms, although a bit off, were all there too. It was as if she entered the twilight zone, yet she couldn’t will herself to look away.</p><p>Probably because of how ridiculous it was.</p><p>Probably because of that goofy grin.</p><p>And those sharp cheekbones.</p><p>Those blue eyes… glimmering like icy fractals over a frozen lake, on a cloudless winter morning…</p><p>
  <em>Focus, Mirwen! An absolute dolt tried to fool you and have a laugh at your expense!</em>
</p><p>As it so happened, <em>Scam</em>leal could have been his twin, if not for some trivial differences. Which it wouldn’t have surprised Mirwen if it turned out to be true - her coworker had always greatly valued his privacy.</p><p>But <em>who</em> pulls this sort of prank on people?!</p><p>She shook her head and pushed past the revolving doors of the university’s main entrance. Her department, and therefore her office, was located in a building further away, connected to the primary wing by a short outdoor bridge. It was a slightly longer journey to make, but she would gladly take it at this hour than walk the distance in the brisk wind.</p><p>The hallways were so familiar that she could cross them with her eyes closed. After her undergraduate course, her masters and PhD done all back to back in the same university, remaining here for research and teaching was a no-brainer. Of course, she had the Coalition for Advancement of Elven Rights to thank, whose support for the elves in the Alienage had been invaluable. No matter how much they all could have learnt, no matter how high any of them would have placed in national contests, without money to pay for the tuition their applications were just another stack of papers to be recycled as scrap.</p><p>Not to mention the previously hushed favouritism of human Fereldans against higher-achieving elves. It may have still gone unacknowledged if not for CAER and the push for holding the faculty and application board accountable.</p><p>It was through one of their events that she met Sileal. The model student, presented to all the doe-eyed freshers every single year during their induction. He had just started his doctorate at the time when she had started hers as well, but his paper was already highly anticipated by anyone who had been given even a smidge of information about it. It was somewhat unclear how much the institute had helped him to get into the White Spire and then into Drakon, but it was certain that they were going to embrace him as their unofficial image for the entirety of his remaining student years.</p><p>As a psychology student, it seemed to be a second nature to him to give excellent objective advice, and they had become quick friends on the sole basis that Mirwen simply liked to ask as many questions as possible from those willing to help. He had an odd sense of humour, his forwardness and quick friendliness felt rather jarring at first, but Mirwen had quickly learnt how to return the banter. Apparently, she was the only one to take it as such: some of her classmates became wholly charmed by his demeanor.</p><p>Sileal was incredibly intelligent and terribly handsome, she had to admit, but neither of them really tried to push that banter into charm, and she wasn’t about to start a relationship with potential coworkers - be it in different departments. This decision was even more apparent to be the right one once she was asked to join the program as a CAER camp counselor. Comfortable companionship it was, whenever they did meet. And it was more often than expected from a now-tenured lecturer that was constantly hounded to advance in his faculty role.</p><p>But not enough to be told that he has a brother or twin or whatever, with the mentality of a second-grader.</p><p><em>Click, clack</em> her heels echoed loudly in the empty stairwell.</p><p>Their offices were on the last floor of the building and could be accessed only via cards from this side of the open-plan room. She began looking through her pockets for the key, which should really be hung on a lanyard by now. Old habits die hard - and she was still wondering why everyone mistook her for a student. Nobody but the faculty was walking about with their id ‘round their neck.</p><p>
  <em>Aha!</em>
</p><p>With a triumphant hum, she fished out the card, swiped it, and entered the room. It was quiet, as expected, all the PhD students’ desks were empty, and the separate offices lined on the left wall had their doors closed. She waved towards Dagna who was arranging her notes in a huge binder. Probably off to join her classmates in the main building’s library, before this one closed for the day.</p><p>Her office was close to the entrance, and as she peeked through the windows of her coworkers’ she could see that all the chairs were empty. Mirwen frowned but didn’t think more of it. She couldn’t really blame them, she’d go home earlier if she could too.</p><p>Finally, she reached her destination. The books were placed gently in a stack on the desk, and she let herself fall onto the cushioned chair seat with a dull <em>thud</em>. Then she rearranged the books again; they were hanging over the edge just a bit. Dorian, her office mate, was missing from his messier side of the room, despite his leather biker jacket and dark canvas backpack still being there.</p><p>With a deep sigh, she lazily sank into her chair and began shuffling through her notes sprawled under her keyboard. Lesson plans for the rest of the week and the next were neatly written in colour coordinated handwriting and highlighter in neon yellow. Among the pages, a few leaflets peeked through. <em>Life drawing, Life drawing modelling, Pottery, Sewing…</em> all hobbyist classes that caught her attention. Now that her doctorate was finally finished and she had more time to herself, Mirwen wished to pick up a new and exciting hobby.</p><p>But when all of them sound so interesting, where does one even start?</p><p>Her eyes flashed briefly towards the red paper crane on her desk - she had even asked Sileal once to teach her how to make origami.</p><p>Fingers tapped impatiently onto the desk.</p><p>
  <em>What to do, what to do…</em>
</p><p>She couldn’t possibly be going home now, not when there was this underlying feeling that she <em>had</em> to do something before leaving work. Relaxing was out of the question, so instead she occupied her hands by putting the books back into their spaces in her bookcase.</p><p>From between two books, a few drafts emerged.</p><p>
  <em>Alienage Project: Unnamed.</em>
</p><p>Mirwen gingerly ran her palm over the handwriting, corrections and underlined statements. Her eyes drifted from one side of the page to the other, not quite focusing on any of the paragraphs.</p><p>She knew what it was anyway.</p><p>Her dream of giving back to her community.</p><p>Outside the door was commotion: a multitude of voices from which a single distinctive and full laughter rose above all. It was Dorian, of course, and he apparently had heard the best joke in his entire life.</p><p>“Mirwen!” Dorian said, keeping up his good disposition as he entered their office. “There you are, you missed all the fun!”</p><p>“Here I thought the party didn’t start without me,” she answered while rubbing her eyes.</p><p>
  <em>No. Stop it, Mirwen, you have mascara on!</em>
</p><p>“Great spirit! Don’t you dare lose that attitude.” The man sat on his chair and pointed in her direction. "We could have used some brandy, I'll admit, though we don't want our distinguished Head of Department to get too heated in dispersing his faculty feedback."</p><p>"Faculty feedback…? Oh, OH!" she facepalmed herself. "We had a meeting today, didn't we?"</p><p>He hummed. "Count your blessings. Not only for not having to hear Erimond be disappointed with the performance of our fellow coworkers from the Chemistry school, but also having your ear talked off by Jowan about his new home microbrewery set."</p><p>"Did he say anything about our school?"</p><p>Dorian groaned. "Yes indeed he has. Tremendously riveting plans of bringing his second batch of experimental Fereldan pale ale with-"</p><p>"Erimond! I meant Erimond!"</p><p>"Oh just some nonsense about grade distribution in the previous exams. Apparently it is harder to believe that the students are actually doing well with the material given, and not that we have purposefully pumped up their marks. You know, because we like to enjoy seeing people suffering later on."</p><p>"Figures. Erimond has always been the type to brag about how difficult his subject is and how only 40% of the year will pass."</p><p>Dorian sighed. "Those were some dark times for the Condensed Matter module.."</p><p>The words trailed in the air as the man turned his attention to the desk. A folded piece of paper was pulled from his right pocket, unwrapped, and spread out on the table. Mirwen idly swivelled her chair to face her monitor, waiting to hear the <em>clickity-clack</em> of his mechanical keyboard. Her eyes fell again on her drafted project proposal, and she hid it inside a notebook.</p><p>She had known Dorian since her last year of studies, when he had arrived at their office looking for Livius Erimond. Back then, her desk was somewhere near Dagna’s claimed space among the other students. The department was in desperate need of a new lecturer for the Wave Phenomena module since professor Daylen Amell had decided to move to his family back in Kirkwall.</p><p>Enter Erimond and Alexius’ relations with the University of Minrathous.</p><p>Some of the Fereldan faculty was understandably weary of the Tevinter takeover on the university despite its very foreign outlook - as exemplified even through its Orlesian name <em>‘Drakon’</em> - and the very origins of the fort from which it took its name, but everyone soon wondered if there were any more Dorians in Tevinter that they could replace Erimond and Alexius with. His research in nuclear astrophysics was fascinating, his humour was witty and quick, and his method of teaching was thoroughly engaging.</p><p>Not to mention that he single-handedly boosted the image of the department from drab-and-nerdy to people actually putting in the effort to show their personality through clothing.</p><p>Luck had it that his teaching career debuted at Drakon. Being short on separate offices, he was given a table among the doctorate students, and Mirwen and Dorian had been inseparable since.</p><p>It did also help the fact that she liked to ask questions, and he absolutely loved answering them especially if they were about himself.</p><p>She lunged over to the mouse and moved it slightly to the right. The locked screen flashed the default image of a grotto at the Amaranthine ocean. <em>17:35</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Should be less people at the bus stop by now. </em>
</p><p>There was a sudden commotion outside the office, followed by Jowan’s voice. <em>Something-something pale ale?</em></p><p>And then she heard him.</p><p>Mirwen’s muscles immediately tensed up and her eyes went wide.</p><p>It was difficult to mistake that grating tone for anyone else.</p><p>A knock on their door followed, and before Dorian could finish saying <em>‘Come in’</em>, Erimond entered the room.</p><p><em>Here we go again</em>.</p><p>“Have you gotten some time to check up on Astrarium, Dr. Pavus?”</p><p>Dorian looked around a bit dazed, as just finished context switching from his transcription.</p><p>“The Astra…?” he mumbled. “The Astrarium project, right. I was not particularly focused on it since arriving at my desk, I have been transcribing the meeting’s minutes.”</p><p>“Anything I can help with?” Mirwen jumped to his rescue. “What do you need to know about them?”</p><p>How lucky for her friend that she knew much about the subject at hand.</p><p>“Dr. Ghilain,” Erimond turned to her icily, a haughty sideway glance as if fully acknowledging her presence was a chore. “As I was telling your colleague here during the meeting, I need an estimate as to how soon we could introduce them in class. I want them installed in our laboratories before the midterm break.”</p><p>As he finished his statement, he pivoted back towards Dorian. She could now only see his dark brown hair, tied up in a ponytail.</p><p>“I have just recently been down to the incubator and talked to Niall and Finn,” Mirwen pushed. “They have been making some great strides and they have even improved the prototype they showed us. With the department backing up the kickstarter we should be able to get the first batch before the next month.”</p><p>Erimond seemed more preoccupied with Dorian’s lack of answers. “Is the program running well, have you checked?”</p><p>Her friend looked a bit like a halla in headlights, his bright green eyes blinking fast as if half to stall for time and half to blink the Head of Department out of existence. It was not surprising, as the man knew next to nothing about the student-run company, or at least past of what she had told him.</p><p>“They have been very confident about it, so I’ve heard.”</p><p>Erimond was finally pleased.</p><p>With a deep sigh, Mirwen turned to her desk again dejected, leaving the two to continue their chat.</p><p>Astrarium was a startup born at Drakon and supported by their business incubator, led by Niall - a brilliant astrophysicist with only one year of his doctorate left to do, and Finn - a self-proclaimed code wizard. Their product bore the same name, and promised to bring the universe in the palm of the class, neatly bundled in a modern-looking 360-degrees projector with the accuracy of the incredibly powerful Starkhaven Royal Observatory and the ease of use of any simple computer program. Niall, the ever pessimist, had mentioned his idea as a throwaway comment back in his first year while in the library with his study group, and Mirwen happened to overhear them. Pleasant was her surprise to find out that he did go through with his plans after meeting Finn.</p><p>Naturally, she wished to support the startup, not only because of the dedicated people fronting it, but also because of the great benefits it could bring to the teaching of their school’s courses. She pitched the idea during one of the smaller meetings Erimond liked to do, Dorian made sure to be very vocal about his support, and Erimond was intrigued.</p><p>It seemed like he also assumed that Dorian had been greatly involved in this project from the very beginning.</p><p>Mirwen listlessly shuffled through the notes, messing up their order again.</p><p>
  <em>Silly, isn’t it?</em>
</p><p>She did feel silly to be so overprotective of this idea. Anyone could’ve had it after all if they looked hard enough. And anyone could have visited the small group in the Accelerator building, checking in every week. Encouraging words are nothing after all if she’s not doing the actual hard work. It was more important that Erimond had appreciated the idea and got the department to kickstart the project, so much so that all the lecturers were buzzing over his investment.</p><p>
  <em>Am I stupid?</em>
</p><p>She swallowed hard and took out her phone to check the bus times. There is still some time before Ellie will come home from work, Mirwen will have to get some bread for them and Auntie Dorothea…</p><p>
  <em>Damn it!</em>
</p><p>It would still be nice to get <em>some</em> recognition for her own contribution.</p><p>“Excellent,” Erimond’s voice boomed through the office, which usually meant that he was announcing his departure. <em>Finally</em>. “I shall see you tomorrow. Keep up the good work.”</p><p>He then turned to Mirwen, giving a curt nod. “Miss Ghilain.”</p><p>And with that, he left.</p><p>“Ass,” Mirwen said under her breath, frowning towards the closed door.</p><p>Dorian snorted.</p><p>“That he is. Such a delightful professor, I almost could not believe my ears when I heard all the stories about him back in Minrathous!”</p><p>His sarcasm usually lifted her spirits, but now she only went quiet.</p><p>“Is it… just me or does he really not respect me?”</p><p>Dorian shook his head cheerlessly. “You are a great teacher and a gifted researcher, and that is all that matters. You cannot let him get to you.”</p><p>She sighed. “I suppose...”</p><p>"I cannot wait for them to change him," he muttered.</p><p>"Do you really think they'll change him?"</p><p>"Only if they manage to find a more insufferable cretin than him."</p><p>"Oh, right, that's how he got his tenure."</p><p>Dorian laughed and Mirwen could feel herself giving a small smile.</p><p>But he was right. She couldn’t let Erimond get to her. And she certainly had to fight to make a change, be it student startups, new teaching methodologies…</p><p>Or giving more opportunities to those in the Alienage.</p><p>She grabbed the notebook where she had hid the project drafts and put it in her bag.</p><p>If her own Head of Department was going to disrespect her then so be it. But she would be damned if she did not try to use her position for good and help her people.</p><p>***</p><p>Somehow, Mirwen still managed to get caught up in the rush hour traffic.</p><p>After being squished, shoved and pulled at the back of an overcrowded bus, she finally managed to reach her equally busy neighbourhood. First stop was the bakery, to buy a white bread loaf for Ellie and herself, and a brioche for Dorothea, their landlady. She had gotten there just in time before they closed, and although the loaves were cold and the baskets empty of the shelves, the delicious scents of muffins, fresh bread and cookies still lingered.</p><p>By the time she left the shop, her stomach was already growling.</p><p>It did not take long to reach their house, an old-looking building with four storeys that had been in Dorothea’s family for generations. Something about it being Chantry-given, Ellie knew more details. Each floor was considered an apartment, only being connected by a flight of stairs. The landlady lived on the ground floor, and the rest of them had been rented out. A lattice of bright ivy embraced the building protectively, as if an extension of the owner herself: she was kind and gentle with her tenants, and on multiple occasions she had <em>forgotten</em> to ask for rent from those who struggled that month. Plus - she always had amazing biscuits for those who stopped by for a chat.</p><p>Unfortunately for her, Mirwen was in no shape to hold small talk that day, and she had to lift her spirits before Ellie would come home and start worrying about her.</p><p>As expected, she was invited in for a cup of tea and jammy biscuits for the troubles of bringing Auntie Dorothea the bread, which Mirwen politely declined and proceeded up the stairs to her apartment. And as expected, she crossed the door sill with a plate full of jammy biscuits.</p><p>Finally, she crashed on the kitchen chair.</p><p>...and put on the kettle.</p><p>She was now craving for that tea she refused.</p><p>The fatigue of the day was starting to catch up, and she could see her movements being done in slow-motion, as viscous as the honey she poured into her mug. The notebook was opened beside her, and her eyes skimmed through the notes she had made.</p><p>
  <em>It won’t work.</em>
</p><p>An empty feeling settled in her stomach.</p><p><em>Who</em> would give her funding, when CAER was barely lumbering along year by year?</p><p>She pressed her forehead onto the lacquered table, and gathered her hands into her lap.</p><p>
  <em>There’s still so much to be done…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I need-</em>
</p><p>Her gaze jolted up towards the opened kitchen door as she heard the rattling of keys and a million keyring charms all colliding into each other.</p>
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